


the comfort you drew (from the light of the stars)

by tardigradeschool



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Kidnapping, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 20:00:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8340853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tardigradeschool/pseuds/tardigradeschool
Summary: When Jim agreed to pretend to be in a relationship with Spock, he didn't realize exactly what he was signing up for. (See: incompetent aliens and broken bones. It's not great, but Spock is.)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [the comfort you drew (from the light of the stars)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9093859) by [allayonel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/allayonel/pseuds/allayonel)



> title from Joanna Newsom's You Will Not Take My Heart Alive

Now, Jim’s a tactile kind of guy. Not in a creepy way; he just does a lot of punching and grabbing and kissing and- well. He’s just very physical. Bones says he wasn’t hugged enough as a child or something. Whatever. 

But for all his propensity for touching, he does start rather violently when Spock, apropos of nothing, takes his hand.

“Sp-” he begins, but Spock shakes his head slightly.

“Allow me to postpone my explanation, Captain,” he says. Jim wonders if this is how Spock feels all the time, trying to understand the actions of illogical humans. He considers raising one eyebrow at him, but isn’t sure that Spock would appreciate it.

Of course, this is when Spock’s father enters. Jim tries to sneakily extract his hand from Spock’s, but Spock is having none of it. 

“Ambassador!” Jim says, with a little too much enthusiasm. 

“Captain,” Sarek returns, “Spock.” He glances at his son, then his eyes fall on his and Jim’s linked hands. 

Sometimes Jim wishes they hadn’t brought him back to life. 

Thankfully, Sarek’s eyes only linger for a second before coming back up to meet Jim’s. “Captain, I trust you have prepared the materials we requested?”

“Of course, Ambassador,” Jim says, stepping forward. Instead of letting go, Spock steps with him.  “My people should be beaming down with them now. How is the building of New Vulcan going?”

“It is going… as expected,” Sarek says. “At the moment the population requires little due to our decreased size, but we hope to rebuild communities, record traditions. Rebuild our people, over the next few generations.” For a second, Jim could swear his eyes flicker to Spock. Spock’s grip tightens a little on Jim’s hand. 

“Glad to hear you’re doing well,” Jim says, trying to maintain eye contact. To encourage Spock to loosen his hold, Jim laces his fingers through Spock’s. That should stop him from breaking Jim’s hand. “The delivery should be complete, if you want to check it.”

“Yes,” Sarek says.

Before he can leave, Jim turns to Spock. “Commander Spock, if you are so inclined, you may take the rest of the day off to spend time with your father.” 

“Unnecessary, Captain,” Spock says. 

Sarek looks at his son, face set. For the life of him, Jim can’t figure out the nuances of Vulcan expression. Reading Spock was difficult at first, but Jim spends over half his waking moments with him, and Spock is part human. 

“Very well,” he says, to hide his discomfort. “If you’ll excuse us, Ambassador.”

It isn’t until they’ve materialized back on the Enterprise that Spock deigns to release his hand. 

“What the hell was that about?” Jim says, shaking his hand to get the feeling back into it. 

“Ah,” Spock says, in a tone that’s as close to sheepish as Jim’s ever heard him get, “You noticed.”

“Like I wouldn’t notice you trying to cut off blood flow to my fingers,” Jim says. 

Spock ponders that one for a minute as they make their way back to the bridge. “Of late, my father has been… insistent,” he says. “He believes I should return to New Vulcan, that it is my duty to participate in the restoration of my species.”

Jim processes this. “You believe differently?”

“Yes,” Spock says, without hesitation. “I am not opposed to the idea, but my father ignores the commitment I made to Starfleet when I signed on for this five-year mission.”

Jim ignores to twinge of discomfort he gets from thinking about Spock settling down on New Vulcan at some point in the future (Spock with a wife and a family, Spock staying planet-bound for the rest of his long, long life, Jim left with no first officer, imagine the  _ inconvenience _ ). “Good,” he says, then adds, “I’d hate to be stranded in space with no first officer.”

They’ve reached the bridge. Jim settles in his chair, resolving to ask Spock to explain the rest later. “Everything going smoothly, Uhura?”

“Yes, Captain,” she says. “We’ve been invited to visit tonight, as thanks for our help.”

“Very kind of them,” Jim says. “Tell them we accept. How long has it been since the last shore leave?”

“Four months and three days, sir,” Chekov says immediately. Jim suppresses a smile.

“Far too long,” he says. “It’s been far too long.”

In the end, it isn’t really a shore leave; New Vulcan doesn’t have the resources or the room to feed the whole starship. To head off the disappointment, Jim assures free time the next time they get to a habitable planet. 

“Don’t look so crushed, Mr. Chekov,” he says, feeling much like a father who has denied his children a promised outing. “Mr. Sulu, you’ve been meaning to examine the plant life on New Vulcan, correct?” Sulu nods. “Very good. This is your chance. Mr. Spock, you’re accompanying me also.”

“If you wish it, Captain,” Spock says, looking as close to sullen as Jim has ever seen him. Jim throws him a sympathetic look and leads the way to the transporter pad. 

Dinner is nice, if somewhat formal. Jim spends most of it trying to reply eloquently to Sarek’s questions and eat his soup without a) spilling it on his shirt or b) making too much noise. It’s more difficult than it sounds. Spock, seated beside him, is nearly silent, both in conversation and in soup consumption. By the end of it, Jim is more than ready to retire to bed, and he clearly doesn’t hide it as well as he could, because Sarek offers them room to sleep on New Vulcan. It would be rude to refuse.

He, Spock, and Sulu are led down a series of intricate hallways. Sulu is shown his room relatively early in the journey, but he and Spock walk for nearly another three minutes before they reach their destination. “Your room,” says the Vulcan who walked them there. 

There’s only one doorway. Jim glances inside the room. There is also only one bed. Jim begins to say something to the Vulcan, but finds that she has vanished down the hallway they came from. “Spock?” he asks, looking for an explanation.

“I believe this is my fault, Captain,” Spock says. “I may have… misled my father earlier when we spoke to him.”

Jim squints at him. “I thought Vulcans didn’t lie.”

“I said  _ misled _ ,” Spock says. 

“Alright,” Jim says. “Same difference.”

Spock looks uncomfortable. “As I said, my father and I hold different beliefs about what my duty constitutes. I had hoped that if he was under the impression we were… involved, he might be less vocal about his opinion.”

“Involved?” Jim repeats. “As in, together?” That isn’t to say he’s opposed to the idea- quite the opposite, in fact- but for all his reminders to himself that that wasn’t a possibility, he never thought it might have been something that Spock had considered, even as a masquerade.

Spock seems to misinterpret his tone. “Indeed,” he says, with a muted grimace. “I intended no offence. In fact, my father may have taken nothing from it at all, though I think it unlikely. In Vulcan culture, hands are somewhat more… significant, when it comes to physical affection-”

Jim, with a depth of will he didn’t know he had, pushes away any reaction to  _ physical affection _ , and waves Spock off. “I’m flattered,” he says, offering a smile and turning into the room. “Good to know that you think I’m meet-the-parents material.” 

Their room itself isn’t large, but the bed is big enough that they can fit comfortably. New Vulcan isn’t as warm as the old planet was, and a temperate breeze makes its way through the arched, glassless window. Locks are unnecessary when you’re the only people on a planet. Jim brushes his teeth in the adjacent bathroom, too tired to really take in any of it. It’s only when he’s settled on one side of the bed, and Spock has carefully laid down on the other, that something occurs to him. 

“Spock,” he says. Spock looks over. “When you say significant, in terms of physical affection. Correct me if I’m wrong, but… do you mean to say we were making out in front of your father?”

Spock meets his eyes. Jim can usually read him pretty well, but it’s dark enough that it’s difficult to see his face. He thinks he can see a hint of amusement.  “Something like that, Captain,” Spock says. 

Hmm, Jim thinks, that’s something to dwell on when he’s more awake, and he closes his eyes, lets the balmy, gentle wind wash over him. He can hear Spock roll over, facing away from him. The most reptilian part of Jim’s brain takes a moment to wish he were closer, and then even that’s gone. 

 

If it weren’t for the light, Jim might have slept another several hours. New Vulcan has relatively short nights, with the sun setting and rising again within about seven hours of each other year round. Despite that, as he blinks in the midmorning light, Jim can’t remember the last time he slept so deeply.

He is also pleasantly warm, and registers why as he tries to lift a hand to rub the sleep out of his eye; Spock is curled up around him, stomach down on top of his left arm, one of Spock’s arms lying loose across Jim’s stomach. Jim’s hand is trapped, palm up, under Spock’s (muscular) thigh, and heat rushes to Jim’s face as he wonders what Spock would say if he were to wake up. Practicing reasonable excuses, he begins to slowly, slowly extricate himself. 

Spock, thankfully, seems to be even more deeply asleep than Jim had been, and Jim takes a couple seconds to let his heart rate slow, from adrenaline and  _ nothing else. _

There’s a notebook and pen left on the table beside the bed, and Jim takes the time to scribble a note:  _ Mr. Spock, looks like you needed the rest even more than I did. We’ll be heading back up to the ship this afternoon, but until then, try to enjoy the break.  _

Jim is careful to move quietly as he leaves, and as he passes through the doorway he turns to glance back at Spock. Somehow, he thought Spock would sleep on his back, not stretched haphazardly across the bed as he is now. 

It’s kind of creepy that he had considered that at all, Jim realizes, and he turns away quickly, pace a little too fast. Only three hallways away does he slow down, imagining Sarek’s thinly veiled alarm if he bursts into the main hall. 

It had been so dark last night that he hadn’t gotten a chance to see the view, but now he can see the horizon out of the window, oceans of rusty sand reaching for miles. Jim leans his elbows on the window sill, watching the sun play on the dunes. The mild wind persists, ruffling his hair. He hadn’t gotten a good look at the original Vulcan, but he’s seen pictures. He can see why they chose this planet. 

Jim has just begun to lean back when he feels something sting under his jaw. Fuck, he thinks, reaching up to feel for it, hoping he isn’t allergic to whatever New Vulcan bug just bit him. Instead, he comes back with a small dart, about an inch long, smooth and silver. 

“Ah, shit,” he says, and has the presence of mind to fall backwards, away from the window, as he passes out cold. 

 

It’s difficult to say what wakes Jim up first: the cold, the hunger, or the pounding pain coming from his knee. Without even opening his eyes, Jim can tell that his right leg is broken, maybe in multiple places. His jaw hurts too, though it pales in comparison. He’s lying on damp, uneven floor. When he tries to sit up he discovers he has a headache so bad that he briefly entertains the idea of just going back to sleep. 

Someone snorts, several feet away. “We can tell you’re awake.” Whoever this person is, they’re speaking Standard, and Jim squints into the near-total darkness. He can’t make out anything more than an outline. Whoever it is- and Jim’s guessing male over female, but he isn’t certain- is speaking quickly, almost nervously. “Sorry about the leg. You tried to fight, you see.” 

“Did I?” Jim has no memory of this.

“Yeah.” The outline moves left, coming a little closer. “Pretty impressive, considering the stuff in that tranquilizer.”

“Thanks,” Jim grunts. He manages to prop himself up on his elbow. “Maybe, as a gesture of your impressedness, you’d consider letting me go?”

The laugh given in response is so high, so loud that Jim thinks he might momentarily black out from pain. By the time the throbbing in his head has faded to the point where he can think again, the laugh has faded to a low creak. “Funny,” the outline says. “They never said humans were funny.”

“It’s a gift,” Jim says. There’s no response, so he keeps talking. “I don’t suppose you can tell me why I’m here?”

There are footsteps approaching. The voice sounds relieved. “Krikael’s coming now. He’ll explain.”

For the first time since Jim woke up, some light enters the room. It’s by no means bright, but Jim has to squint nonetheless, waiting for his eyes to adjust. 

There are three of his captors in the room; they’re humanoid, but clearly alien.  They’re pale, almost translucent, sharp-featured, with a slump to their shoulders. The middle one holds a lamp, illuminating the barren room. There are bars standing between them and Jim; Jim lies in a square, windowless cell about ten feet by ten, with walls on two sides and thick metal bars on the others. There is a door, fitted with similar bars and bolted shut.

Jim draws himself up a little, ignoring the corresponding pulse of objection from his headache. “Gentlemen. May I be given an explanation for my presence here?”

“Of course,” says the one in the middle. “We hope you accept an apology for your conditions and that you will not take offense.”

“So…” Jim says. “This was all an accident?” He pictures the aliens trying to explain  _ accidental kidnapping _ to Bones but makes himself stop before the imaginary Bones starts beating them around the head.

“Oh, no,” says the middle one.

“No,” agrees the big one.

“No, unfortunately that was our intent,” says the one on the right.

“We mean you no harm, however,” the middle one assures him.

“None at all,” agrees the one on the right. 

Jim resists the urge to gesture emphatically at his broken leg. 

“We have no quarrel with humans,” the middle one assures him. “It’s the Vulcans we wish to conquer, but we have no sedatives that will work on them and we cannot defeat them physically. Therefore, the Vulcan leader’s son’s consort seemed the obvious target.”

For a second, Jim wonders if the headache grinding at the back of his skull is affecting his hearing. “Consort?” he finally manages.

Two of the aliens exchange a glance. “Is that the improper term?” one of them asks anxiously. “We mean no offense. Our culture has no equivalent relationship.”

They’re watching him fretfully. Jim tries to swallow his reaction. It’s extremely unlikely that they’ll consider him useful if he mentions that a) he is not, in fact, Spock’s  _ consort _ or b) that Spock is actually far too good for him. Despite their seeming regard for him, he doubts they’ll keep him alive just for kicks. “I was just surprised you were aware of our relationship,” Jim finally says. “Commander Spock and I have been trying to keep it quiet.”

“Ah,” says the middle one, relieved. “Yes, we understand. When the supreme ruler said to go conquer worlds, we decided to  _ keep it quiet  _ that we have not conquered too many yet.”

“Or any,” the one on the left says. 

“Yes,” the right one agrees. “The Vulcan leader said you and his son were  _ quite enamored _ and we thought ah! What an opportunity.”

“Again, we apologize for the inconvenience,” the middle one says, bowing slightly. 

“This is pretty fucked up,” Jim says conversationally. 

There’s a pause. “Right,” says the left one uncomfortably. “We will be taking our leave.” 

They file out, leaving Jim alone. Feeling disagreeably vulnerable in the center of the cell, Jim grits his teeth and slowly, slowly drags himself to the walled corner. The heel on his broken leg catches on the floor, sending tiny, agonizing jolts up his leg. Breathing hard, feeling near deaf from the pounding in his head, Jim lies down and waits to go unconscious again.

 

AN INTERLUDE

 

“You are being illogical,” Sarek says. 

“He is not here,” Spock says, only just refraining from gritting his teeth. “He is not on the Enterprise. There is nowhere else for him to be.  _ That _ is illogical, Father.” Not that that makes his concern logical, by any means; his anxiety well exceeds what he estimates it would be if Jim simply his commanding officer. Jim may have been surprisingly at ease with his actions the day prior, but Jim is human and won’t be reliving that memory, half in mortification and half in shameful thrill for an undetermined period of time. 

Sarek waves a hand. “Humans are illogical, Spock. Surely he will appear shortly.”

Spock exchanges a look with Sulu. Sulu looks similarly alarmed, which, infuriatingly, makes Spock feel less irrational. He may be reacting emotionally, but at least it’s an appropriate emotion to the situation. Distantly, Spock recognizes this as embarrassing. 

 

Jim is wakes to the aggressive throat clearing of one of the aliens. “Yes, excuse us,” the closest one says. “We would prefer if you were awake now.”

“Well, I would prefer to be enjoying vacation,” Jim says, and then adds, “Dick.”

“We  _ have _ apologized,” the alien says, a little peeved. “And that is not my name. I am Krikael. That is Emilp and that’s Qleyd. We are the Wrout.”

Jim just grunts, pushing himself into a sitting position. He doesn’t notice Krikael’s tranquilizer gun until too late. “C’mon,” he groans, pulling the capsule out of his thigh. Gesturing widely with one hand as a distraction, he tucks the cylinder into his back pocket with the other. “That was unnecessary.”

“It’s a much milder dose, just immobilizing,” Krikael says in a tone Jim thinks he means to be reassuring, as one of the other two unlocks the door. Jim tries to get up, but the combination of the sedative and his leg make it impossible. Instead, he just sort of sags between Emilp and Qleyd as they grab his arms.

“Should he look worse?” Qleyd asks.

Krikael looks contemplative for a second, then swings back and punches Jim in the face. It wouldn’t be a bad punch, except that Krikael immediately winces, wringing his hand. “Sorry,” he says, and the apology, more than anything, is what makes Jim want to hit him back. 

They haul Jim out of the room. He thanks fuck the sedative dulls the feeling in his leg, which drags pathetically behind him. He tries to take in details of any kind about wherever he is, but his brain doesn’t seem to be storing new information. 

He’s positioned on a chair in a similarly dingy room to the one the cell is in, except this one has lights on the ceiling and a screen on the far wall. Emilp ties his arms tightly behind him and Qleyd produces a piece of grungy cloth as a gag. Jim tries to lean away, but there isn’t much he can do. Finished, they step away, leaving Jim alone in front of the screen. 

Jim almost wants to laugh. They’re going to what, hold him hostage? He doesn’t think they’ve done their research. There’s no logic in surrendering the remnant of a species for the sake of any single person, regardless of that single person’s position. Spock knows that, certainly, and Sarek, who has no fondness for or even duty to Jim, knows it even better. 

Still, it won’t be exactly fun to watch Spock signing Jim’s death warrant. He wishes, suddenly, that they’d upped the dosage a little, that they’d straight up knocked him out. Then, when the Vulcans have to refuse and Krikael realizes the strategic uselessness of keeping Jim alive, he could just-- go. 

The screen flickers to life. Sarek is seated somberly against a sunset. Jim guesses a day and a half on New Vulcan has passed, about thirty hours. Jim feels suddenly, unreasonably self-conscious; he’s always tried to present his best to the ambassador and here he is, tied up and drugged on camera. It’s just… undignified.

“Lord Sarek,” Krikael says, standing carefully out of the camera’s view. “The Wrout are here and we call for your people to surrender.”

“I am no lord,” Sarek says grimly. “And I refuse.”

“Then we have no choice but to kill this man,” Krikael says. 

“I cannot say it pleases me.” Sarek bows his head a little. Jim appreciates the gesture. “But-”

“Father?” Spock’s voice, offscreen. Jim tenses, and in doing so, feels the outline of the capsule he tucked into his back pocket. Keeping his eyes on the screen, careful not to wriggle too much, he begins to test the ropes they put him in. Tight, but he’s gotten out of tighter. He rotates his wrist. 

Spock comes into view, visibly blanching when he gets a look at the screen. The half of Sarek’s face that Jim can see is grimacing. Well, Vulcan grimacing: frowning slightly.  “ _ Jim _ ,” Spock says, leaning forward, and something in Jim’s chest aches.  _ Fuck _ , this is so not how he wants to die. He pulls harder on the ropes, feels them give just enough that he can twist his wrist to work on the knot itself. 

“We were hoping you would arrive,” Krikael says. “If your father doesn’t surrender your people, Captain James Kirk will die.”

Jim gets the knot free exactly as Emilp notices that he’s up to something and rushes forward. Unable to stand up, Jim jerks his hand free, grabs Emilp by the collar, and stabs him in the eye with the needle of the dart. Emilp staggers back and Jim pulls off the gag as Qleyd fumbles for new darts to put in his gun and Krikael jumps for the camera controls. 

“Spock,” he says, trying to stand, stumbling to not put weight on his broken leg. “ _ There’s only three of them _ . Don’t-”

Krikael gets the camera off just as Qleyd gives up on the darts, steps forward, and pistol whips him with the gun itself. 

 

A SECOND INTERLUDE

 

Spock is gripping the table so hard he can’t feel his fingers. On the one hand, Jim is alive. On the other, there is a sizable chance Jim will no longer be alive following that conversation. He is torn between wanting to forget the sight of Jim so mistreated and an irrational fear that it will be the last time he sees him. He is having some difficulty breathing. “Why Jim?” he asks tightly.

“They had hoped your relationship with him might influence me to surrender.”

Ah. A logical but completely ineffective plan. Primarily in that Sarek would never consider the thought of prioritizing anyone, let alone an outsider, over their already limited population. But additionally because he and Jim are not actually together, although not for lack of desire on Spock’s part. Jim deserves someone better, as demonstrated by the situation Spock’s lies have put him in. Spock feels an nauseating wave of guilt. 

Aware his father is watching, Spock forces himself to take a breath. “Can we find them?”

“Perhaps,” Sarek says, and then, in what is unquestionably the most demonstrative display of affection Spock has ever received from him, he places his hand on Spock’s shoulder. “I understand it can be… difficult to lose someone you are… fond of. When your mother-” 

Spock recoils, wrenching himself away. “I must update the Enterprise,” he says, without looking at his father’s face, and exits. 

 

Jim’s been dead before, and it’s the only reason he refrains from the phrase  _ feels like death. _ Death was way better than this bad acid trip shit. Jim groans, rolling his head back. The side of his forehead feels simultaneously numb and hot; Jim thinks Qleyd broke the skin. They’ve bound his hands again, so tightly this time that he can barely feel his fingers. It kind of feels like his entire body has been through a garlic press. See also: hungry as shit. 

Above him, the Wrout are arguing. Jim blinks at them, finding that his right eye won’t focus correctly. To make up for it, he squints at them.

“-can’t just leave!”

“Look, you heard what the transmission said! Maybe we could get the ship somehow-”

“Do you know how to pilot a ship, Krikael?”

Jim clears his throat. “Transmission?” he croaks. 

“Oh, you’re awake,” Krikael says. “Yes, we intercepted a call from your ship. Your Chief Engineer is in the sick bay for a concussion.” He sounds a little smug. Jim does the math in his head and begins to laugh.

Krikael and Qleyd exchange a mystified look. Jim doesn’t bother explaining. They’ll see soon enough. Because if he’s been kidnapped, Spock and Sulu are still on New Vulcan, and Scotty’s out of commission, the chain of command means… 

“You’re fucked,” he tells them, which is when Uhura blasts the door down. 

 

“Commendations upon commendations,” Jim croaks to her as Chekov picks at the ropes and Bones dodges in and out of his blurry vision, trying to examine his entire body at once. The pain of his leg, which had been dulled by the tranquilizer, is itching back, impossible to ignore. There are other people moving around them, picking up the limp bodies of the Wrout, but Jim finds himself unable to concentrate on them enough to figure out which crewmembers they are. 

Krikael groans as they pick him up. “The supreme ruler is not going to like this.” Uhura pulls out her phaser and stuns him again. 

“Thank you, Captain,” she says, ignoring the break in conversation. “We were able to track the signal of their message. We got here as soon as we could.” Chekov finally gets the knot to give, and Jim’s hands fall free. 

“Not a moment too soon,” Bones adds, gripping Jim’s shoulder. 

“The Vulcans are okay?” Jim asks.

“Spock’s fine,” Bones says. 

“Good,” Jim says vaguely, “Good.” 

“Jim, try to stay awake,” Bones warns, “Don’t-”

Jim, who was never good at following orders, does. 

 

“Stay  _ still _ ,” Bones says, for the third time in two minutes, putting down his light. 

“I  _ am _ ,” Jim insists. It’s not like he can run away; his right leg is in a cast from the thigh down. Bones says it can come off in a week, which really means about three days. He hasn’t seen a mirror in the two days since his big rescue, but he can imagine how he looks, with his temple bandaged and sporting what Bones calls “a hell of a shiner”. 

“You can go hunt Spock down when you stop falling over every time you stand up,” Bones says. He picks up the light again, and when Jim tries to turn his head away, grabs his jaw. 

“That was one time,” Jim complains. “Besides, I have better things to do than find my first officer.” The only one he can think of off the top of his head is  _ take a shower _ , but he’s sure there are others. 

Bones makes a very small scoffing sound. “Glad to hear you think so.” He straightens up, crossing his arms. “The concussion’s a little better. You can go back to your quarters tomorrow, but no active duty for at least ten days.” Jim interprets this as about five days. 

Jim leans back as Bones goes to leave. “Hey,” he says. “If you see Spock, will you send him in here? Ship business.”

Bones gives him a half-pitying, half-humoring look. “Sure, Jim,” he says, “I’ll tell him. If I see him.”

“It’s  _ ship business, _ ” Jim calls after him, because he’s a captain, dammit, and he at least deserves the pretense of respect.

 

Jim is about to fall asleep when Spock arrives. It’s 2100 hours and Spock is very quick to try to retreat after poking his head into the room. Jim wonders if he wasn’t hoping he would be asleep.

“Mr. Spock,” he says. “Do come back.”

“My apologies, Captain,” Spock says, coming back side medbay like someone’s pointing a gun to the back of his head. “I assumed you would be resting.” Carefully, he settles into the chair beside Jim. 

“Just resting my eyes,” Jim says cheerfully, not bothering to point out that if Spock really believed that, he would have waited until tomorrow. “How’s everything? The aliens?”

“Safely in the brig.”

“Good,” Jim says. “And the Vulcans?”

“Unharmed,” Spock says. “My father wishes to convey to you his regret that you were caught in the crossfire of such a nonsensical conflict.”

“None of the blame is his,” Jim says, waving it off. “You know, Uhura was fantastic. She’d make an exceptional captain, if that’s something she wants to do.” He looks at Spock a little closer; Spock looks significantly more uncomfortable than he does on a daily basis. “And you? How are you?”

“Quite well, Captain,” Spock says, inclining his head. 

“Oh, come on,” Jim says. “I’m off-duty. We’ve kissed in front of your father. It’s Jim.”

“Jim,” Spock echoes, seeming to physically diminish. 

Jim, now moderately concerned, tries to provoke him into smiling. “The aliens heard your father talking about us. Apparently your father thinks we’re-” It takes him a moment to remember the phrase. “- _ quite enamored _ .”

This has the opposite effect from what he intended. Spock visibly grimaces. Jim, without thinking, reaches for him, and Spock jerks away. 

“I’m sorry,” Jim says, unsure exactly which things to apologize for. 

“The fault is mine,” Spock says, shaking his head slightly. “I never intended-” He stops. “Your state is the result of my actions.”

“Spock,” Jim says, unsure. “I’m fine. I’ve had worse.”

Spock’s eyes drag over his cast, up to his face, clearly unconvinced. 

“And it isn’t your fault. You didn’t mean for this to happen,” Jim adds for good measure. “Look, I’m happy to be your fake-” He stops so that he won’t say consort _.  _ “-fake  _ whatever _ , whenever. That’s what friends are for.”

Spock takes a deep breath. He’s looking down, gripping the side of the bed with one hand. “I doubt,” he says, so quietly that Jim can barely hear him. “that you would be so accommodating were you aware of my true sentiment.”

“Spock?” Jim says.

“I acted out of convenience, yes,” Spock says. “But not convenience alone. I admit I… am not averse to the impression I gave my father. Quite the opposite, in fact.” 

He’s hunched into himself, still not looking at Jim. Jim finds himself somewhat unable to speak. Almost on instinct, he reaches out, puts his hand over Spock’s, which is clenched so tightly on the side of the bed that that Jim thinks he might break it.

Spock tenses. “Jim,” he says hoarsely, eyeing Jim’s hand like it’s some kind of huge, hairy insect. “I don’t think you-”

“I understand,” Jim says gruffly. Spock finally meets Jim’s eyes. Slowly, disbelievingly, he turns his hand over beneath Jim’s. “Yeah,” Jim says, and it’s a hell of a good thing that Spock takes the initiative to move forward then, because from the bed, he couldn’t reach Spock’s face if he tried. He imagines, briefly, what Bones would say if he tried to explain how he injured himself worse because he couldn’t keep it in his pants. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time. God, Bones can be mean. 

Spock moves a little closer then, and Jim stops thinking about Bones entirely.


End file.
